


Enveloped

by MiniOranges



Category: Moonlight (2016)
Genre: Implicit Mention of Drugs, M/M, Mentions of Juan, Mentions of Paula, Mentions of gunshots, Past Abuse, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniOranges/pseuds/MiniOranges
Summary: The end of the film finds Little, his back to the audience, glowing and undisturbed. At once, he glances back, as if coaxing, although it isn’t sure. What happened then?
Relationships: Chiron/Kevin (Moonlight)
Kudos: 14





	Enveloped

**Author's Note:**

> A few days ago my mother brought me to the beach. It was void of people and utterly free. Free enough that it reminded me of this film and how much I just wanted to submerge myself into the unknown—all to forget who I am, and who I want to become. Writing anchors me though, so here we are.

_You in the middle of the world man._

Chiron remembers Juan’s words. Like a ringing that wouldn’t die down; loud enough to imprint, though never an annoyance.

He remembers how heavy his head felt, 11 years-old and so alone. How his shoulders hunch up every time, too wary of the water. The instinct was to avoid drowning, both in sea and life be it as it may.

But Juan was there. A soothing escape, the father he never had. He lived a life of danger; immoral and secretive, but it was needed. Like the utter personification of survival. His instinct to avoid drowning was just as strong—even dying at the hands of it. It was the contrast they all lodged a reality in, entering savage territory and hoping for the best. All because they wanted to exist in this menacing world.

_Gunshots._

Another ringing that wouldn’t die down; loud enough to imprint, less of an annoyance, but only because he’s gotten used to it.

Chiron grew up in chaos. It was all he’d ever known.

_Heat. Knuckles to nose. Blood._

Kevin strikes, and he stumbles. Like how the game always played; how Chiron never knew when to hit on his own. 16 years-old, and so alone. The pain blinds him as much as the Miami sun does. There were no soothing escapes this time.

So upon getting home, he sets his mind on numbness, a little gleeful mama wasn’t home. The implications of the thought drive him faster, onto the sink. _Numbness_.

He dips his head, and the ice greets him. It’s as cold as the world, as the train station’s breeze, as his mama’s apparent presence. The burn shocks him, but he stays.

 _Numbness_.

It was very unlike the hot water he prepared for the tub after school, nor the refreshing, enclasping sea Juan carried him in. It was just ice, stale and sterile.

And though it was a given, Chiron stops to think of how flexible water is; how in many forms it could give him different feelings altogether. He thinks he’s much like water. Maybe that’s why he’s drowning again.

_Salt. Streaming. Sinuous._

The tears were inevitable. His mama was right there, after all. Time has caught up to her, aided by the substance he once despised, but went back to eventually. What an allegory, life is.

_"…You ain’t gotta love me, but you gon’ know that I love you, you hear?"_

_"…"_

_"You hear me, Chiron?"_

_"I hear you, mama."_

He just wants to be heard too.

Nonetheless, he lights her cigarette for her. All too much like a non-verbal agreement of understanding, of reaching out, _helping_. Offering respite in such a raw moment, so exposed that it topples all the façades he so hardly built. The skin strips and the air stings. But he doesn’t feel anything else.

Chiron looks as mama puffs the smoke. She exhales, none too gently. In this light, he thinks how smoke is all he’d ever known. Chaos is all he’d ever known.

Like the water, and everything it can be, air doesn’t fall too differently. A breath of life, or an asphyxiation, the range is dangerous—Chiron feels the same way.

_Diner bells. Forks against plates. People chattering._

Chiron enters the room, not without fixing-up a bit. For what, well he doesn’t want to admit. But he’s here, and that’s all that matters.

Kevin cooks for him, and as he waits, he thinks how they both got here. Aged and apart, touched by the realities that people who look like them needed to face. People who grew up like them needed to face. There was nowhere else to go. _Like Juan did_.

Though he wonders why Kevin never understood.

_"Who is you, man?"_

_"Who, me?"_

_"…Them fronts? That car? Who is you, Chiron?"_

He never understood.

The flashbacks end, Chiron is still here. He’s barefoot, and the sand seeps into his toes. He’ll worry about that later, as there are a lot of other things to think about.

He sits, arms propped over bulk knees, staring at the sea and the nothingness of it all. Under the moonlight, it looks mysterious. An abyss blanketed by seemingly calm tides, a stark contrast to its inviting aura when the day is bright and he’s 11 years-old again, trying not to drown.

Now, he’s just standing, head above water. If he submerges, he fears he may not want to go back up—

—Because the sea is his calm, for quite some time now, although unknowing. The sea; all-embracing, yet suffocating. So free, yet entrapping. Stay too long and you’re wrinkled and gasping. Stay far away, but it’ll call you still.

Like everything else, _for a long time he tried not to remember_.

But he’s here now, because there’s nothing else to do but face it.

"I knew I’d find yo’ ass here,"

The voice startles him a bit and it alerts. A reflex he’d acquired from living off danger.

"You was always loving the water wasn’t you, Black?" Kevin continues.

"Just fresh out here, is all." Chiron manages to say, slurring a bit and looking away from the other man.

"So can I sit with you or nah?" He laughs.

"It’s aight."

And so Kevin settles beside Chiron once again. _Just like the last time_. A few hours ago found them talking about high school despite the latter’s persistence to avoid it. _For a long time I tried not to remember_.

It’s been like that for a while. After Chiron moved in to Kevin’s not long after the visit, they established a relationship of sorts, trying to ease into it gently, wary of Chiron’s shaky foundation despite his ever so tough demeanor. As usual, Kevin was the confidence of them both.

So he tried to talk Chiron into sharing, to _let go_ or something. It’d end up how it did, stillness and tension reverberating the room. This was actually the first time Chiron decided to head out, going to the beach once again. It was the greatest escape.

"Come on man, you thinkin’ too much again."

Chiron responds with an exhale, shaking a little. Maybe on the brink of crying, but he’s never going to say. And as usual, Kevin fills the silence.

"Hey," The man grabs his right hand, grasping. "I’m here, aight? You with me, man."

He grips Kevin’s tighter in lieu of responding, bowing his head and breathing deeply.

"C’mere, Black." His lover holds the back of his head, moving to lay it on his shoulder gently. _Just like the first time_. Kevin strokes the nape, all under a quivering Chiron clasping his hand like a lifeline.

"You know, Juan woulda been so proud of you, Black. You don’t even know."

_Sniffles. Sea. Sorry._

It takes a couple of minutes to find calmness again, raising his head to stare at Kevin. In an instant, they draw together like a mutual agreement, kissing; under the moonlight, where Black boys look blue. It’s chaste and unhurried, moving in sync yet in opposite directions. Kevin grips his nape firmly, and Chiron’s hand remains the hold all the same.

Chiron is the first to retract, avoiding eye-contact, and settling back to the warmth emanating from the other man’s shoulder. Kevin understands. So for once, he doesn’t bother to say anything at all.

In the torpor of the moment, his mind drifts again.

He thinks how right here, in Miami Beach, with the serene calling of the waves and the prickle of sand beneath their feet, under the moonlight and against each other; they have their own world. And no matter where else they try to build it again—in Atlanta, the diner, at home—one thing remains the same—

—Overlooking the Earth, at a certain angle, they’re always going to be in the middle of it.

 _You in the middle of the world man_.


End file.
